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now,” she said, feeling as if this man were Kyrie Eleison! Christe Eleison!—those far away from her. “I have him now; he Greek words that prelude the sacrifice Cathis all mine and God's!”

erine applied to her husband, beseeching She recalled only the sufferings of her the Lord passionately for him, steeped this married life, as she stood there, half con- morning in mortal sin; but when the temptuous, half pitying.

“Gloria" came, and at the “Sanctus" she He can never be like this-his face can was mystically exalted; and when the celenever look like this! The grace of the priest - brant raised the golden chalice and the hood is already about him."

music was hushed and the glowing figure Sullivan stole off to early mass in the of the priest was veiled in incense, she felt morning; and then he waited at a distance for an instant that she could understand the until he saw Catherine, in her best lawn humble joy of the blessed among women; gown and purple and black hat, pass with she, too, had a son who would go to his John to high mass. John had grown, he Father pure, undefiled! And as she glanced could see that. The boy's loose blue coat at the boy by her side tears fell upon the set well on a pair of shoulders as broad as words in her prayer-book, "Blessed is He his; and with pride Sullivan noticed that who comes in the name of the Lord! his son was at least an inch or two taller Hosanna in excelsis!" than his father.

John saw the tears; the poem of the mass “Priest or no priest,” he thought, “Bros- uplifted him; the cry,“ Lamb of God, Who nahan's boy will never equal him in looks. taketh away the sins of the world, Give us Priest! It's not in the Brosnahan blood to reace!” touched him to the core. What, be a priest; a Connaught braggart—that's after all, was the mysterious bond that drew what Brosnahan is! It's a heavy heart him, like a flower-chain, to Rose? Here Catherine carries the day, in spite of her was something more mystic, stronger, the proud walk, but it will be heavier when wonderful priest touching heaven itself! His she finds out—but she'll never find it out. own eyes became moist and a strange hunger I'll make a priest of him, in spite of all hell!” filled his heart. Let the world pass; he was

Catherine was heavy-hearted; but as called and chosen! A great burst of thrillshe glanced at the lad beside her, stalwart, ing music sounded, and the mass was over. noble-looking, with all the attributes of As the mother and son went down the strength and youth, her thoughts warmed aisle Catherine caught sight of Rose, paltoward his father. At least, he had given pitating with youth and color; the girl's her this beautiful being!

eyes dropped over her white rosary. The morning light filled the church; the “Sure, what is the like of her doing here?" candles on the high altar glowed among the Catherine whispered. “Why doesn't she banks of the white and blue iris. Mag- go to the I-talian church?” nolias from the Jersey swamps cast clouds “Mother!” remonstrated her son, offerof perfume from the altar of the Sacred ing the holy water. Heart at the side, where a red lamp burned. "Oh," said Catherine, with a laugh, as the The priest, in his golden chasuble, ap. church steps were reached, "you take a peared, preceded by a flock of acolytes in priest's point of view; it's only the laity that red cassocks and white surplices. Cath- make a difference—dagoes or not dagoes, erine felt that she loved every one of these they're all Christians to you!little lads, from the bullet-headed two with chubby cheeks, no higher than the altar Sullivan was lying on the lounge in the rail, to the haughty persons—the Dillon “back room ”; he shook hands with his son, twins-destined to kneel upon the steps of but did not kiss him—the Sullivans were, as the altar and to serve the mass. The Sul- a rule, not effusive. The father and son livan pew was well in front, to the left of the were together while the mother looked after middle aisle, and Catherine did not see Rose the roasting beef in the kitchen. The father Risoli, in a white chiffon hat, with glowing averted his eyes and listened to accounts of crimson roses, in a pew near the door. college life with an interest that he tried hard

“Lord have mercy on us! Christ have to conceal. mercy on us!” sang the voices grouped “You'll be getting ready for the seminary about the organ, high up at the back- examination, I guess ?” the father said at

[graphic]

Drawn by Stanley M. Arthurs.

“Sure, what is the like of her doing here?” Catherine whispered. - Page 94.

last, with a note of irony in his voice. After Himself couldn't convince her that she all, the boy was his son, priest or no priest. hasn't brought into the world a wonderAnd he was more like him than Catherine. when you're only a man—a lad of a manCatherine was good — too good, or she like your father!” wouldn't have looked at him, as she came “Poor mother!” murmured John. “Oh, in, as if he were an habitual drunkard. poor mother!” Perhaps, if John hadn't been so much like “Oh, she'll love you, all the same,” him, the boy would never have looked at Sullivan said, with a gleam of humor in his that dago girl. But, if that fool, Brosna- eyes, “but she'll never forgive—the other han's son, could be a priest, his son, after woman! We're weak—weak as watherall the money spent

and I'm not sure,” on him, must be a

he added, with some priest! “You and

bitterness and a young Brosnahan

reminiscent headwill be after going

ache, “that I'd like up for the examina

to have a son as tion at the same

good as Catherine, time?"

though she'd be all John laughed

right as a daughter. somewhat uneasily.

The sooner you tell “Mike Brosna

her—though I don't han will never be a

envy you, my boypriest, father

the sooner she'll never! It's a joke

forget — no mather he played on his

what!” father over the tele

John's face was phone. He told me

crimson. At that about it. Why, he's

moment he could going to marry

not understand; Maggie Fay!”

later, when he was "The widow

ten years older, he Fay's daughter?”

understood. "The pretty one." “You're the best man that the Lord ever made!”

“And you're not “It's not much of

- Page 97.

angry, father. I a match," thought

don't suppose Rose Sullivan. “Giovanni Risoli's daughter, can ever be quite as good as mother, but countin' in her aunt's Atlantic City Hotel you know you've often told me how you and the rows of houses downtown, is a met mother coming from her aunt's and how better match.” So Brosnahan's son wasn't happygoing to be a priest!

"Don't be after comparin' your mother "John," he said, suddenly, "I could with the daughter of a dago," whispered have killed you last night, before-before his father sternly. "But I know what the -never mind what!” he kept his face to spell of a woman is when it's cast over one the wall. “I've made up my mind that of us, boy or man! You'd better be a good man's weak. If a strong man like me, father nor a bad priest!” with a wife like your mother, can't stand “Father Becker says,” spoke John, as his against drink, after years and years, I've father turned toward him, that the Church no call to blame you for fallin' in love with was made for man and not man for the a nice slip of a girl, though she's an Church, and that a—a—" he hesitated I-talian.”

and blushed, “a husband and father-like John looked at his father in amazement, you, you know—does his duty as fully as his color rising. There was a pause, then any bishop." he stammered.

Sullivan laughed softly, and took the slim "Father Becker doesn't think I have a brown hand of his son into his red, strong vocation—" he began.

clasp. “Tell your mother that! The Holy Ghost “Priests may say that; but the women, in their hearts, don't believe it; they never “Rose!” he said, forgetting. will, Johneen. You'll be gettin' down to work “Rose?” said his mother wonderingly. as soon as you can, and I'll do what I can for "Ah, yes, mother." you—but don't be forgettin’all the Latin I There was something in his voice that have paid for. And, my boy, don't tell her enlightened her. when I'm around, for the love of heaven!” “Go to your-Rose!” she said bitterly.

[graphic]

The table was spread in the kitchen, and “Go! Turn your back on God, as your John, as a future ecclesiastic, asked to say father has done!” grace. This had hitherto been his father's He did not move; her voice cut his heart; prerogative, but Sullivan endured his de- it seemed as if she were no longer his clension philosophically.

mother. She left him. · After the lemon meringue pie-Catherine's Sunday chef d'æuvre—had been con- “Tim, O Tim-0 Tim!” she wailed, sumed in silence, except for John's occa- when Sullivan came home in the twilight. sional discourse, which his mother listened "He's gone to see her! I've only you-only to with delight, Sullivan went out ostenta- you in the world-you're the best man that tiously. The silence of the warm Sunday the Lord ever made!” afternoon settled on the house. Mother “Nonsense, nonsense, my colleen,reand son went into the parlor, gay with green turned Sullivan cheerfully. “Not the best. and red plush and elaborate lace curtains. So he's told you that he wants to marry Miss They had still much to say. Sullivan was far Rosey? It's all right. Mike Brosnahan, away from her to-day-of the past—almost to make amends for no matter what, is a necessary evil. The mother and son each going to set Johneen up in business with his sat at a lace-draped window looking on the son—and, in time, acushla, you'll have a street. John wanted to talk of Rose, but it grandson." became more and more difficult, and more Catherine became cold at once. and more he felt as if he were a liar.

Don't talk that way! What will be the Two girlish figures passed by just as the good of a grandson that'll be the child of Vesper bells began to ring. They were in another woman?” white, with red parasols, and one wore a And she wept until she could weep no hat with crimson flowers.

more.

GLASGOW

By Frederic C. Howe

HE glory of Glasgow's gov- it used to cost from a private company; it

ernment is not an American sells me water and electricity, and does a myth. It is a concrete reality, lot of other things. As for the Glasgow even to the ha'penny man on trams, they beat the world.” “And the tax the tram. "We have the rate?" I inquired. "Is very low," was the

best city in :he kingdom, reply. probably in the world, sir,” a casual neigh- We passed a bowling-green, smooth as a bor on top of one of Glasgow's tram-cars billiard-table. "The city has just opened said to me. That sounded like Pittsburg, those greens," said my informant, and pointlike Chicago, or like the boastfulness of the ing to a group of workingmen, he added: American Far West. But it wasn't the same “Any one of those men could tell you the thing. "You seem to be proud of your city," things I am telling you; they know all about I suggested invitingly. “Of course I am,” our tram system; they have a fair idea of my friend responded. "Glasgow sells me gas what the system earns, and what it costs to a: two shillings a thousand, it gives me tele- carry them. They'll tell you whether the phone service at little more than half what profits should be used to reduce iares or to

VOL. XL -11

pay off the tramway debt. They regard the important to him, he felt it must be equally trams, the gas, the water, the electricity, as important to the rest of the world. their business. A councilman has got to at- Enthusiasm and interest, devotion and tend to the business of those men. If he pride—these are the characteristics of Glasdoesn't, they 'heckle the life out of him.” gow citizenship. I have talked with the

That's what the man on the street says heads of the city departments, with a score about his Glasgow. That's what the poor of town councillors, with police and fire unfortunate, living in a two-room tenement officials, with clerks, bath-house custodians, says. That's what the merchant, the man- and conductors on the tram-cars-with all ufacturer, the big business man says. They sorts of men, Tories and Liberals, Radicals talk Glasgow all the time. Edinburgh says and Socialists, from the Lord Provost down this is vulgar. Edinburgh says it is undigni- to the cab-driver. And this is the only citfied. At all events, it's the Glaswegian way. izenship I have been able to find.

Even at the club I found it. I was intro- Graft? Yes, I found some talk of graft. duced to a knot of sandy-haired business The Glaswegian doesn't call it that. He men. They were deep in talk. I heard doesn't know the word. But here and there the phrases business men conjure with in a man would shake his head and say: “The America. I heard of tramways, of gas, of council isn't what it used to be.” “It rather electricity, and of telephones. And espe- amazes me," said a newspaper editor, "to cially of some big corporation in which they read what you Americans are always saying all seemed to be interested. One of the men about us. Of course though, I am a pessiwas a ship-owner, another was a large mer- mist, but I cannot help feeling that the outchant, another an editor-all were men of look here isn't very good. The make-up of eminence.

the council is changing. No, I have no perThe talk turned to parks, to housing sonal knowledge of corruption, but there are schemes, to symphony concerts, to a Whist- men who have. I'll give you a note to a ler portrait in a local art gallery. The cor- former councilman," mentioning a promiporation so absorbing to them all turned nent business man; “he knows all about the out to be the corporation of Glasgow, the way things are going down in the council biggest corporation in Scotland. The tram- chamber." ways, the gas, the electricity, the symphony It was true, then, this that I had so often concerts, the Whistler purchase-all were heard in America—that no city could go in parts of this Glasgow. These men were for such extensive business as Glasgow had discussing economies not parties; policies, undertaken without corruption; that pubnot politics--and they did it as if it were lic ownership was bound to demoralize a their own business.

city. And here it was. Had even GlasI went out to the sewage disposal works gow nothing to teach America ? For that at Dalmuir. An old employee took me in was what I was looking for, lessons in city adtow. He explained how the sewage was ministration. collected; how it was separated by chemi- I called on one of Glasgow's most discal treatment, how the water was purified tinguished citizens. He had been in the before being poured into the River Clyde. council fifteen years, and had but recently It was so pure, he said, that it was fit to retired. He, too, was inclined to send me drink. He offered me a glassful, but I told away with the indefinite remark that the him I wasn't feeling thirsty just at that mo- council was not what it once was; that there ment. So he drank it himself. He told me were two or three aldermen who had no vishow much the city received from the sale of ible means of support; mere adventurers, the sludge as fertilizer. He explained the he called them, who were making use of process as a gardener might describe the their positions in questionable ways. cultivation of some rare flower he had given “Let me see," I inquired, remembering his life to producing. The man had been Chicago, Philadelphia, and St. Louis. “You in the city employ a long time. There was have no street-railway, gas, or electricity little dignity, and less pay, about his position. franchises to give away; no contracts to But he was a citizen of no mean city, and he light the streets, for you do all these things was proud of his job. He was loath to let yourselves. You have abolished the conme leave him and his cesspool. It was all so tractor, and do all of your own work. You

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